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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25465450">Table Twelve</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/KorrohShipper/pseuds/KorrohShipper'>KorrohShipper</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>S. Grant Wilson [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, Dancing, Day 5, F/M, Old Peggy Carter, Old Steve Rogers, Outsider's Perspective, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Steggy - Freeform, Steggy Week 2020, Time Travel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 10:54:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,940</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25465450</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/KorrohShipper/pseuds/KorrohShipper</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Something's wrong with Twelve."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>S. Grant Wilson [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1867306</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>70</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Table Twelve</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Day 5 (Thursday): Outsiders POV</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kathleen, for all her dreams of singing and hitting it big, knew she had to play her cards right. She’s a realist, after all.</p><p>So, going to that record studio in New York was a long shot and the move alone had eaten up and tied down most of her funds. Her singing career needed to be supplemented by something steadier than a music sheet she had no idea if bigwig suits and listeners would like.</p><p>Hence, the job at Amadeo’s, a hidden gem of a restaurant in Little Italy in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn. It was a third generation, family owned bistro that first opened its doors on 1918.</p><p>Its current owner, Anita Rossellini, left most of the administrative and financial decisions to her youngest son, Ezio, who also ran the kitchen as the head chef. While Amadeo’s came a long way from its fledgling, ten-table beginnings, what with Ezio modernizing the restaurant, Anita had one rule that would remain, Kathleen thinks, as firm as the brick and mortar that houses the restaurant.</p><p>Anita was born on 1928. She was old enough to know the gravity that the war had on her people, and on her country, and like every good American, she wanted to help, she wanted to serve. But she was too young, so instead she only watched as three of her brothers were drafted to war and was subsequently given three folded flags in return.</p><p>With the influx of men and women coming home, haunted by war, and parents who grieved their fallen children, Anita set a tradition—Saturdays nights will see to a free drink and meal for veterans.</p><p>She resolved that while she couldn’t help her brothers and country by joining the war, she would help by looking after those who had been left behind, to those who had survived.</p><p>So, it wasn’t out of place when, on Saturday nights, the main hall of the restaurant would be cleared off, the stage dusted clean for a band, and older soldiers coming around at exactly 7 o’clock to enjoy a blast from the past.</p><p>It was then, when dinner service was coming to a slow to make way for their end-of-day routine, did she notice Ezio and a couple of the older staff retreated to the main hall and spied on a couple.</p><p>“What’s going on?”</p><p>Ezio, who had endeared himself to her as an older brother supportive of her dreams, leaned to her side and whispered in hushed tones, “Something’s wrong with Twelve.”</p><p>Table Twelve was something akin to a legend at Amadeo’s.</p><p>According to Anita, the Wilson couple—though Peggy would always firmly insist that her last name is <em>Carter</em>, the name she was given at birth and the one she will take to the grave, “As if I would give up my last name,” then, she’d shoot her husband a playful look, “Sorry, darling.”, but her husband would simply smile, that same goopy, heart-melting smile she saw old couples exchange that came in package with love stories that people wrote epics about, the very same kind of love and partnership she would one day aspire to have—would always sit at the corner booth twelve ever since 1950.</p><p>Grant Wilson and Peggy Carter proved to be, after all those decades, a staple of Amadeo’s: when the restaurant fell on hard times, Mr. Wilson held an art exhibit and donated all of the proceeds to the restaurant and the staff at the time; when Ezio had a cancer scare in the 70’s, Peggy Carter had reached out to her connections like Howard Stark and helped him get treatment and would remain, to this day, cancer free.</p><p>And her, for instance. Her apartment’s handyman had been out for the first year in after moving into the city and the winter, she had learned, was especially brutal with a broken heater. While she didn’t get sick, she had a case of the chills but Grant and Peggy noticed and when she was coming home from her shift, they offered to give her a ride as it was on the way and Grant brought along his tool box and fixed the heater.</p><p>Or maybe their busboy, Stuart, who had been in an altercation with the law for a petty theft. Already marginalized for being African-American, Peggy paid his bail and got him a job at Amadeo’s as he slowly rebuilt his life.</p><p>The community, in fact, and not just the restaurant all had stories of how, in times of trouble, Grant Wilson and Peggy Carter had swooped in and helped out the best they can. Brooklyn, as far as Kathleen was concerned, held a debt that neither of them would claim nor would others ever know.</p><p>It didn’t matter who it was, or where they’re from. As long as someone needed help, the couple would readily lend out a hand and do the best they can.</p><p>And when Kathleen glanced a look at twelve, her body somewhat froze in rigid agreement. Something was wrong.</p><p>The usually happy demeanor of the couple was replaced with a silent hold. Grant, instead of occupying his other side of the booth, had been camped firmly by Peggy’s side. Her head was tucked underneath his chin, both of their eyes were closed as they swayed, in their booth, to the music of the band.</p><p>Something was indeed wrong with Twelve.</p><p>They usually danced the night, left a hefty tip for the staff in the amount of the meal they ate in lieu of a payment because Anita and Ezio, or the rest of the staff for that matter, refused to take payment.</p><p>They usually smiled brightly at each other, sometimes dazzling the others as they would take the dance floor—unlike other couples their age, they were strong, managing to get around without so much as a walking stick.</p><p>But there they were, the band playing their number—Grant smiled, standing up and offering his hand to his wife, “Come on, they’re playing something slow,” to which she would reply, with a good-natured eye roll, “Oh, fine, but only because you won’t step on my toes.” —which was really any song that was slow, staying in their booths.</p><p>“Should someone go to them—” the suggestion was cut off when Joy, the manager, discreetly pointed, eyes wide, and body shaking.</p><p>“Twelve’s crying!”</p><p>Everyone’s gaze went back to the couple. Twelve was indeed crying. It appeared to them now, that the stoic, almost hardened look on Grant’s face was his level best at trying not to cry, to be strong, but he couldn’t take it. Whatever it was they were going through, it was big.</p><p>“Someone should do something.” The sous chef, Marco, muttered, perched on the half-wall, equally invested in the events happening before their eyes.</p><p>Then, everyone had zeroed in on her. “No!” she screeched, taking more than a few steps back.</p><p>“Come on, you’re their regular server. They won’t suspect a thing!”</p><p>“And what would I say, ‘Hey, saw you crying, want some more wine, maybe dessert, some tissue?’ I’m not doing that.”</p><p>“It’s Twelve!”</p><p>The protests around her sounded, but the pleading eyes of her coworkers, not to mention the inherent nagging feeling that something’s wrong with Twelve had her going inside the kitchen and pulling out two servings of panna cotta, their favorite dessert, which now that Kathleen got thinking, they didn’t even order.</p><p>“This is coming out of your pay.” She muttered towards her conspirators, but if she was being truthful, she would pay it herself if it meant helping out Grant and Peggy.</p><p>“It’s <em>Twelve</em>, Kath, I’d gladly shoulder it,” said Stu, stressing that it was Table Twelve. Ezio, however, laid a hand on Stuart’s shoulder and shook his head. The fact that the house would pay for their meal goes without saying.</p><p>“I hate you all.” She said without truly meaning it before walking out of their small hidden wall and into the main hall.</p><p>Most of their patrons had already cleared out. Their janitor, a young Latino man named Julio, watched in slow but visible hesitation as she approached the booth. Before leaving to mop out a different section of the hall, he gave her a thumbs up for moral support.</p><p>“Hey, guys, everything okay?”</p><p>The two sobered up, slightly placing distance between themselves, smiling at her, a sudden intruder in what seemed like an intimate moment.</p><p>“Oh, Kathleen, darling, we didn’t order that.” Peggy said, eyeing the panna cotta, a sweet smile on her face before shaking her head.</p><p>But she placed it on their table. “It’s on the house.” She insisted, brandishing, alongside the dessert spoons, a wad of tissue paper.</p><p>Never one to be blunt, Peggy gave a watery chuckle, eyeing the stack of napkins with a softness, a sadness that she couldn’t explain. “Steve, my darling—” Kathleen paused for a moment. Steve? She’s never heard her call him Steve. “—I’m afraid we’ve worried the staff.” Grant, or Steve, peeked from over the booth and well enough, saw the number of staff watching them.</p><p>“We didn’t mean to worry all of you.” Said Grant apologetically, but it was not lost on Kathleen that his hand remained firmly linked to Peggy’s, their fingers woven intertwined and tightly.</p><p>“Well, I don’t mean to pry, but is everything alright?” then, came the profound weariness that hung on their shoulders, that showed in their eyes.</p><p>“It’s just that—” Grant’s voice cracked, and Kathleen panicked, she didn’t want to make him cry, “—this would be Peggy’s last night here.”</p><p>At first, Kathleen wondered if Peggy were to move. Maybe it was a goodbye dinner of sorts as they moved to a different city. But it didn’t make sense. Why would it be only Peggy’s last night here? For the two years she’s been in Brooklyn, Kathleen knew from one look alone that Grant and Peggy had that epic love the legends sang songs about. She wouldn’t leave without him.</p><p>That ruled out separation.</p><p>The only thing would be—</p><p>“No,” Kathleen found herself going weak in the knees, all of a sudden. Her hand flew up to her mouth. “Is it serious?” Peggy gave her a strong smile.</p><p>Grant gave his wife a look and she nodded. Peggy reached out for her hand, which she gladly gave. “I’m afraid Alzheimer’s would only worsen as it progresses.” Then, she smiles tightly, eyes watering. “You’ll take care of Grant here, won’t you?”</p><p>Unable to voice out the million thoughts she had in mind, she only nodded. “Of course.”</p><p>“And if this old wanker refuses to move on, you bloody hit him square in the head to set him right.”</p><p>“I can’t do that to a customer, ma’am.”</p><p>“Even with special dispensation from his wife?” Peggy negotiated and Kathleen squeaked out a small peep of laughter.</p><p>“Even so, ma’am.”</p><p>Then, for a few moments, they just sat together in a longing silence, as if they were willing the time to slow down and freeze for a moment.</p><p>“I’ll just go to the powder room,” instinctively, she held out her hand to help, but she was swatted away.</p><p>“I’m not an invalid,” then, petulantly, she adds, “yet.”</p><p>And that’s exactly how she imagined Peggy Carter to be. Headstrong even as the doctors tell her she shouldn’t be. Kathleen couldn’t help the air of admiration and awe she held for the woman.</p><p>Long after she had disappeared into the corridor to the restrooms, Grant—or Steve, she’s confused now—had this thousand yard stare. “Do you know,” he began, akin to that tone that meant an hour long story that generally the older generation had, “aside from my childhood friend, she was the only person who saw me.”</p><p>At that, Kathleen had been skeptical. Even at an old age, Grant stood at an exceptionally tall and fit build and cut a sharp, handsome figure. She’s sure that he looked handsome back in the day. But she wasn’t about to call out on her customer when he’s going through a tough time, when his wife is suddenly diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.</p><p>“I couldn’t see colors at first, you know?” he said with a reminiscing life, closing his eyes fondly, probably recalling the memory to mind. “The first time I saw color, I saw her. Red lips, Montezuma Red during the war. They had stopped the production, but she loved it.”</p><p>Kathleen tried to visualize his words. He had lived a colorless life and the first time he did see color, he saw her. She tried to think of that, living a black-and-white life of shades of gray only to blink your eyes open and then she’s there, the woman of his dreams, the love of his life.</p><p>“It must have been romantic, meeting her.”</p><p>Kathleen thinks of the war. A leave in London, maybe a soldier’s night out in a pub then he’d see her, with all his color-corrected vision and then Germany surrenders and they fell in love.</p><p>“Oh, but it wasn’t.”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“We were both fighting a war. There’s this connection, yeah, but we always thought there was an after, so whatever understanding we have, we never really acted on it.” He gave her a look, one that startled her. It was a pain that he had on his face, one that had her reeling back. “I was lost, for a great deal of time—”</p><p><em>Ah</em>, Kathleen thought, <em>probably lost at sea.</em></p><p>“—but when I had the chance, I went back to her.” He sunk into the booth and rested his head. “2007 makes for 56 years, don’t you know? We’ve been married for 56 years, and I still don’t know what saintly deed I’ve done in my past life to deserve someone like Peggy.”</p><p>If there was any doubt of Mr. Wilson’s love for his wife, there wasn’t any now.</p><p>“I’m sure she’s lucky to have you, too.”</p><p>“That old geezer?” Peggy said from behind, smiling as she crossed the room, back to her spot beside Mr. Wilson and, almost automatically, caught his hand and wove their fingers together. “If you describe luck as having your toes stepped on every time you dance,” she teased, eyes twinkling as she smiled at her husband, “then I have to say I’m the most fortunate woman in the world.”</p><p>She says the last part in a whisper, a reverent confession that made Kathleen feel small and stick out like a sore thumb, intruding in a special moment.</p><p>Grant, though, protested. “It was only one time.”</p><p>“Oh, hush,” Peggy said, her gaze landing on her with a conspiratorial, mischievous smile. “Have I ever told you of when we first met, my husband and I?”</p><p>Kathleen, for all her knowledge of Twelve, realizes that as much as they know the community, they didn’t know much about this staple of a Brooklyn couple.</p><p>“I think I haven’t, ma’am.” Behind her, when she twisted slightly, she saw the rest of the staff leaning in forward in anticipation of the story, already abandoning all pretense of discretion and went over to the vacant tables around them.</p><p>“Well, I’ll have you know that he never gave me a second glance.”</p><p>“Come on!” says Grant, fighting off a smile. “I didn’t know!”</p><p>“It was in ‘42 and he was trying to sign up for the war. I was there with my boss, a doctor for the war looking for exceptional young men,” and Kathleen peers over Grant Wilson. If exceptional young men were the goal, he surely must have filled in all the blanks.</p><p>“And Grant signed up and you guys met?”</p><p>Peggy waved the suggestion off with a laugh, an elegant flourish befitting an Englishwoman. “Oh, far from it. Grant here is a rule breaker—you’re not allowed to lie on your enlistment form, but he did.”</p><p>“To get out?” she asks in a small voice. She’s never thought of the kind, old, Mr. Wilson as someone who would lie to get out of service.</p><p>“No,” he piped in, tone almost dreamy, but with a hint of laughter. “I was trying to get in. I had, er, clubbed feet.” </p><p>Peggy gave him a look, one of exasperation and a soft, “It was much more than that!” but the injection was waved off.</p><p>“I tried signing up for five times. The fourth was the one that put me in the good doctor’s radar.”</p><p>“What happened?”</p><p>“Well, there was a schmuck who lied on his form to try and get exempted, said he had a heart murmur when the doctor on site ruled him as 1-A. Naturally, the police nearby didn’t appreciate the stunt, but I didn't know that—” Kathleen let a smile grow on her face.</p><p>“You thought they were coming for you.”</p><p>“I did. I scrambled all the way out of the recruitment center, didn’t even bother to tie up my laces when I bumped into someone—or, rather, stepped on her feet.”</p><p>“He didn’t know who I was, or who I was working for but I managed to get his file and when I realized he tried to enlist five times, I learned that there’s no one much more exceptional than Grant here, no one much more fitting.”</p><p>Then, a familiar story popped into her mind. “Kinda like how Steve Rogers was, right? You know, er, Captain America!” for a moment, there was a moment of dumbfounded silence before Grant burst out laughing.</p><p>“Oh, yeah, Captain Rogers. The star-spangled man with a plan.” He and his wife exchanged a look, and he laid over his free hand on their entwined fingers, giving it a soft, gentle squeeze. "Do I look like the good ole Cap?" he teases with a chuckle. Kathleen squinted, now that he's mentioned it, Mr. Wilson does look like the famous wartime hero but that's impossible. Captain America died after crashing a hijacked Japanese bomber plane to save the west coast.</p><p>"Chance would be a fine thing," but she leans back into him, resting her head on his shoulder. “I’m going to miss this.” Says Peggy with a tad bit more emotion. Her eyes were glassy. Then, she turns to her, with an imploring smile. “You’ll take care of him, yes?”</p><p>“You already asked her that, sweetheart.”</p><p>“Oh, hush, Grant.” She says before letting go of her hold of Grant and went to grab her hands when she squinted at her wrist, zeroing in on her watch. “Oh, my, look at us, talking away your night, I’m sure they’re dying closing up already.”</p><p>“No, no,” she says, albeit too quickly. It wouldn’t be the worst thing if she and the rest of the guys went home late, not if it meant giving Grant and Peggy more time here, in a place they love for more than 56 years. “It’s alright, you two take your time.”</p><p>“Oh, how’s your little trip to the recording studios?” then asks Grant.</p><p>“It’s fine.” She says, a shade of rose tinting her cheeks. “They said they’ll call back.”</p><p>“I don’t know why they’re wasting they’re time with all their deliberation,” mutters Peggy. “They’ve got a superstar right here!” and while her cheeks flushed a bright pink with the praise, she muttered her thanks. </p><p>Suddenly, an idea popped into her mind. “You never got to dance tonight.”</p><p>As if the thought’s only crossed her mind now, Peggy did smile regretfully at the missed chance. “Oh, yes. I’m afraid we didn’t.”</p><p>There was a thoughtful look on Grant’s face. “We’ll always dance again, one day.”</p><p>“Why wait?” she blurted out.</p><p>“The band’s left, Kathleen dear, and truly, there’s no need. Our children are going to pick us up, bright and early into the morning for the drive to the airport. The nursing home over at DC.”</p><p>“No!” she says, strongly. “Hey Julio, Javi!” she spots the two men, the latter pretending to be busy as he wiped the tables clean when he was just listening early on. “You know how to set up the stage and all those wires?”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“And Julio, can you get me the lights?”</p><p>“Kathleen, dear, what are you planning?” asks Peggy with a nervous but amused smile, her eyes roaming as the two men caught on with her plan and moved accordingly.</p><p>“Why wait?” she says a tad bit too quickly and she clears up her throat before her moment of confidence runs out, “—why wait to dance one day when you can do it tonight?”</p><p>“She does make a compelling argument, Peg.” He smiles, eyes twinkling. “Come on, dance with me?”</p><p>“As if I’d say no,” then, she reaches out for his hand as he stood up. She cupped his face in her palm and says, affectionately, “my right partner.”</p><p>“Got any requests?” she asks and then, Grant’s face lit up.</p><p>“Say, you happen to know that Kitty Kallen song with Harry James and His Orchestra? It's Been A Long, Long Time?”</p><p>Ezio, who was standing by the bar gave her a thumbs up and ran all over to the office to get Youtube on. Soon, enough the sound of brass filled the room. The lights had dimmed as Grant lead Peggy to the dance floor, swaying softly to the music, whispering what she thinks are sweet nothings to her ears.</p><p>
  <em>Never thought that you would be,<br/>Standing here so close to me,<br/>There’s so much I feel that I should say,<br/>But words can wait until some other day.</em>
</p><p>Kathleen drops a glance at the walls of Amadeo’s, she spots the numerous framed photographs of the restaurant’s colorful past.</p><p>Many of the photographs were black-and-white on the far end of the wall by the entrance. She knew some of them by heart already—there was one of JFK eating at a booth back when he was a senator, one where the Beatles had stopped by for a quick bite to eat, the cast of Friends using their famous Central Perk couch pose, a number of newspaper articles about the restaurant, the governor of New York. . .the list goes on.</p><p>But Anita, as much as it brings pride and fame to the restaurant, always said that those pictures didn’t capture Amadeo’s spirit.</p><p>The pictures near the stage, deeper into the restaurant, however, did.</p><p>They were mostly of soldiers, a tribute, Kathleen thinks, to the fallen brothers of Anita. There was a whole section on soldiers celebrating the war’s end. Then, in the corner of her eyes, she spots them.</p><p>It was Grant and Peggy.</p><p>
  <em>Kiss me once, then kiss me twice,<br/>Then kiss me once again,<br/>It’s been a long, long time,<br/>Haven’t felt like this, my dear.</em>
</p><p>Grant and Peggy shared a kiss, continuing to sway to their slow, slow dance, oblivious already to the world around them. Then, she spied on their photograph on the wall.</p><p>Kathleen was right. Grant was even more handsome and dashing back then. The photograph was dated 1949, the New Year. It was then when they cemented their claim on table twelve, earning them a nickname to this day.</p><p>His was smiling at his wife and she, even with the lack color, look like she was glowing with a brightness and happiness that she could still see whenever she caught her looking at Grant. The photographer had the flash on and it was evident in the spark of light that reflected off the glass on their table.</p><p>Grant looked like he was the happiest man alive and when Kathleen saw the small, opened, and empty velvet ring box, she understood. They got engaged that night, the eve of a new decade and the start of their lives together.</p><p>There was another one of them. This was much more candid.</p><p>Ezio explained that one to her, Kathleen recalls. Veterans’ day of ‘51, he had mentioned. Instead of the both of them, smiling from ear to ear at the camera, it was much more candid.</p><p>
  <em>Since I can’t remember when,<br/>It’s been a long, long time,<br/>You’ll never know how many dreams,<br/>I’ve dreamed about you.</em>
</p><p>He is dressed in his Class A suit and she in a bright dress. Remembering her lipstick, Kathleen imagines it to be red. They were dancing, animatedly at the same dance floor they are now swaying in. The photographer captured them mid-swing, but there was one resemblance that she saw, five decades apart, there was a look of love that remained perpetual on their faces, a hold in her grasps that never loosened even after all those years.</p><p>Another caught her eye, and it was something that made her heart melt into a little puddle inside her rib cage.</p><p>
  <em>Or just how empty they all seemed without you,</em>
  <br/>
  <em>So kiss me once, kiss me twice,</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Then kiss me once again,</em>
  <br/>
  <em>It’s been a long, long time.</em>
</p><p>There was a different glow to Peggy in this little gem of a photo she’s spotted on the wall. Like the one where they were dancing, this one’s candid. The photographer’s just caught the right angle—a nice even mix of both Grant and Peggy.</p><p>He’s kneeling on the floor beside her on Peggy’s side of the booth, his hand on her stomach and she looks like she’s nodding.</p><p>It was the night she’s told him he’s going to become a father.</p><p>The rest were a barrage of other pictures.</p><p>One where they smiled at the camera as they entered the restaurant, a little boy now in tow. Another one had them with another child. Their son was grinning with a missing tooth but their little girl was bright as a star in that photograph.</p><p>The wall was adorned by the stories of the numerous patrons through the years, but Grant and Peggy’s lives were shone bright tonight. There was one with their son—Michael, she thinks is his name, she’s seen him eat here with Grant and Peggy once or twice—in a graduation toga, and another one with their daughter’s.</p><p>The wall of Amadeo’s showcased their family portrait many times, held witness to its growth from the engagement to the marriage to their first child, their little family growing to four children and their milestones.</p><p>She sees the little times of trouble, too. There was one of Peggy alone with Michael, all of two years old. The war broke out in Korea and he had been drafted, as Anita told the story once. The kids had been scared and to remedy the issue, Peggy took them to Amadeo's to have their famous tiramisu. She was all smiles, Peggy, telling little stories to her children about their father's more comical blunders. The story was special to Anita because her husband—then her boyfriend—was drafted into the war, too. What made the incident memorable for Anita was that, when the children went to the washroom to ready up to go home, Peggy had called for a waiter and ordered, to go, a serving of panna cotta. It was their favorite dessert and she let it slip that she was missing him.</p><p>She sees another one, but this time Peggy is not there. There is now color, too. Grant is there with the children, each child grinning with a milkshake. She remembers when Ezio told her that Peggy was gone because she was in DC when the missile crisis happened. Anita had left Ezio in the office and told him to stay there, but he couldn't. He sneaked out and saw Twelve—the kids there were older than him, but there was something wrong, they were scared. Grant took them out for milkshakes. A photographer was schedules to take shots for an article. Ezio remembered asking if it was alright to pay for a copy, too. They sent it to Washington to their Peggy with a caption, in the back, "To Mummy, with love!" written lovingly from the children.</p><p>What was more striking in the photograph without Peggy is that Grant posed with something on his hand. It was circular, like a vintage pocket watch or a compass. Ezio learned, from one of the Wilson children, that Grant, too, scribbled a note down at the photograph: "Don't worry about us, hon, I have this for guidance."</p><p>Then, the more recent photographs stood out.</p><p>Already with graying hair, Peggy displayed her cake from her agency that read, “Happy retirement, Director Carter!”</p><p>There was also one when they became grandparents, with Grant fussing over the tiny infant in his arms and a proud grin from Peggy as she donned a shirt that says, “Call Me Grandmama”.</p><p>Photographs of their family was littered all over, one of birthdays and family outings but it all captured the same spirit.</p><p>The life they built.</p><p>
  <em>Ah, kiss me once, then kiss me twice,<br/>Then kiss me once again,<br/>It’s been a long, long time,<br/>Haven’t felt like this, my dear.</em>
</p><p>And now, as they dance, Ezio crept up from behind. A camera in hand, he took a snap as they danced. Kathleen shed a tear when the tune finished, when Grant and Peggy continued to hum the tune to themselves.</p><p>The photograph, she thinks, will make a great addition to the wall.</p><p>Grant ends their dance as he struggles to get down on one knee.</p><p>“I’m afraid you’re much too late,” she says in breathless tones, a hint of teasing, too, “I’ve already asked you to marry me, my darling.”</p><p>“And I said yes.” He answers brightly, taking her hand into his and pressed a kiss on the back of it.</p><p>“Steve?”</p><p>“One heck of a dance, Peg.”</p><p>At that, Kathleen can’t help but nod and glance at the pictures once more.</p><p>
  <em>One heck of a life, too.</em>
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